


black holes and revelations

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, happy ending I promise, pining + angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oikawa tooru is anxious, hesitant, insecure; he's utterly over-the-top, and also, he's utterly in love with his best friend.<br/><i>(or, in which oikawa pines, and iwaizumi is terrible at making decisions.)</i></p><blockquote>
  <p>"though cloudy, the moonlight still manages to paint itself across iwaizumi's skin as it always does, dipping into the hollows of his bones and drenching his veins in washed-out watercolour stardust; and oikawa has never seen anything more lovely than the sight of him in the snow, not ever, not ever."</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	black holes and revelations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carafin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carafin/gifts).



> dedicated to you, carafin, bc oh my god you are such an incredible writer + you rlly inspire me + i see you as a role model!! pls enjoy!!
> 
> {title taken from muse's album, 'black holes and revelations}  
> {lowercase intended + tumblr: jetpackcrows}

**i.**

he's resting his head on iwaizumi's shoulder, his consciousness streaked with acidic fatigue and black-and-white calamity. he watches his best friend intently, longingly, as snowflakes spiral down against the navy-blue, melting against the other's warm, pink cheeks and settling along his long eyelashes slowly. though cloudy, the moonlight still manages to paint itself across iwaizumi's skin as it always does, dipping into the hollows of his bones and drenching his veins in washed-out watercolour stardust; and oikawa has never seen anything more lovely than the sight of him in the snow, not ever, not  _ever_. iwaizumi is the embodiment of poetry, he thinks, with snowflake-studded words draped over his collarbones and sugar-soft starlight twined into his hair; and he's eternally mocking, he's infinitely beautiful. also, he's so overwhelming that he makes oikawa almost shudder in incredulity and disbelief at how imperfectly  _perfect_  he is- and it nearly happens, oikawa nearly shudders, as though iwaizumi is something that he's scared of.

_(oh, iwa-chan. you're laced into my veins, and i cannot untangle the knots that you've tied deep within me.)_

but then, but then the dark-haired boy tugs gently on oikawa's curls and offers him that eternally mocking, infinitely beautiful smile, and oikawa melts against his touch instead of shuddering, melts like the snowflakes on his warm, pink cheeks. iwaizumi is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, the kind of expression reserved only for special occasions like oikawa's birthday or now, new year's eve; and he treasures it dearly, he treasures it so, so dearly. it's a look that says,  _hey, you, you're the one who strings my universe up, y'know?_  or  _are you the one who scattered those diamonds across the night sky?  
_ he loves it, oikawa loves it so much. it's the one look that can pull him out of his chronic melancholy, the one look that can truly make him  _happy_ , and it's something to adore, to admire.

honestly, though, their co-dependent friendship can seem a little bit toxic sometimes; a sickly-sweet wine, diluted with seemingly innocent poison. why  _is_  it that oikawa's only source of real happiness seems to be iwaizumi's smile, his encouraging words, his brash but endearing nature? why is it that sometimes, the only way he can feel feather-light and content is by daydreaming about that raven-haired, sharp-tongued boy?

when those thoughts of toxicity pop into his head, however, oikawa always tries to remember that they aren't _really_ co-dependent, no, not at all. iwaizumi is perfectly okay on his own, and besides- he's just strong, blunt, mature, someone who's able to deal with oikawa's insecurities as though they're tiny parasites; so easy to destroy, yet so able to cause destruction. he's the only one  _patient_  enough to put up with the insufferable setter, the only one enduring and caring enough- and even then, irritation still finds itself a regular visitor to his brain. but despite the harsh fights and arguments they have here-and-there, they always manage to talk it out, manage to resolve issues between themselves- and for that, oikawa is endlessly grateful.

he knows it isn't co-dependency; it's friendship, and a very, very strong one at that. and oikawa- he isn't willing to give that friendship up, not for anything.

that's why even though he's so, so in love with iwaizumi, and so, so reliant on him, he refuses to talk to him about what really matters the most- his true feelings.  
_(it's a tragedy, it truly is.)_    
he loves the boy in front of him with every diamond-bright fibre of his body, every inch to spare of his soul; and yet, in a way, oikawa's love is more of a carnal longing, a need for someone to love him back just as passionately. it's dangerous and gruelling mentally, he knows, this constant pining after iwaizumi, and the resultant bitter jealousy over everyone else- yet oikawa can't stop, he won't stop, and that's just the way it is. besides, if he ever spoke to iwaizumi about it, he would risk the breaking of a profound friendship, the loss of a best friend and all-around life partner; and oikawa knows that he'd much rather put up with heartache, than be forced to live with heartbreak. he'd choose it  _any_  time over an aevertinity of lonely, depressing nights- any time. the fear keeps him rooted, makes him stay in his lane.

a time like this, though, wherein the pining is replaced with glittering snowflakes and genuine smiles and achingly honest words- it's oikawa's favourite, what keeps him hooked to his and iwaizumi's borderline-cloying friendship. it doesn't change a single thing about his perpetual sadness, however. after all, when oikawa flashes iwaizumi a star-bright beam in response to his unusual display of affection, he probably doesn't notice how the setter is only smiling with his teeth- and not his eyes.

_(but that's just the way it is.)_

iwaizumi leans back on the bench instead of reacting to said fake grin, staring up at the darkness, that same captivating smile playing at his lips. his beauty is cold, somehow, shocking oikawa into an ice-sharp reality of wintery blackness and nostalgia hanging in the gloom; and he knows, he knows, that the thirty-first of december really is one of  _those_  days.

"we're finally beginning a new year, huh?" iwaizumi says, lightly, his low voice drifting upwards into the ephemeral wind- and suddenly, oikawa loves it a little too much, loves his voice, loves his soul, loves  _him_. "we've come so far, haven't we?"

oikawa's bitter.  _why? why can't you just love me back?_

"yes!" he agrees cheerily instead, looking up with his dead eyes and his own lips curved upwards, almost unnaturally so. then, he lets out a silent sigh, watching his breath turning to starry-eyed mist before speaking again.   
_he doesn't really know what to do, what he's done this year.  
_ "we've come really, _really_ far, iwa-chan!" he lies, turning to him, tone falsely high and enthusiastic. iwaizumi has shifted closer, he notices, and he's still looking at oikawa with that eternally mocking, infinitely beautiful smile. 

_don't play with me like that, iwa-chan.  
_ _stop it. stop that.  
_ _it hurts._

"we have," iwaizumi breathes, and his own tone sounds falsely fond, though oikawa knows it's most likely sincere. the lack of usage, however, has rendered iwaizumi's wistful, meaningful voice rather bereft; almost sarcastic-sounding, and painfully empty.  
"to be honest, though, oikawa, _you're_ the one who's come really far. i wouldn't usually say this, but i'm... i'm quite proud of you, y'know?"  
"is that so?" oikawa laughs, and it rings in the silent night eerily. he sounds hysterical, nearly, the laugh devoid of any humour and emotion; and he quickly composes himself with his signature smirk, before going on in a much more normal, oikawa-esque voice.  
"of course you're proud of me, iwa-chan, i've finally learned how to style my hair properly! after all those years of imitating japanese idols, i've found my  _true_  self in leave-in conditioner and constant bed head. i'm amazing, you know-"  
" _wow_ , asskawa, way to ruin a moment-  _shut it_!" iwaizumi interrupts, cuffing him upside the head with a growl, and this time oikawa's subsequent laugh is heartfelt.  iwaizumi lets out a short chuckle too, after a while, listening to the sound-waves rippling through the air and moulding themselves into the dents and ridges of the heavy-lidded trees until it fades away- and then they're both laughing, laughing hard, laughing as though they haven't a worry in the world and as though everything is perfect and as though everything is as it should be. which is true, because in that moment, everything  _is_  perfect, everything  _is_  as it should be- and oikawa feels paradise creep slowly into his veins, hitting him like a bullet in the back. 

as if on cue, their laughter precedes bright lights flickering to life all around them in the park, and a distant rhapsody starts up. myriads of people are ecstatic, drunk, chanting in english, counting down to the stroke of midnight- " _forty! thirty-nine! thirty eight!_ "- and oikawa turns back to look at iwaizumi again, really look at him.

he's art. it isn't just that oikawa thinks he's mesmerising, wants to pin him up against the wall- though that  _does_  play a major role in it- but it's also that he's so beautifully flawed, and so enrapturing  _because_  of that. oikawa notices the way his hair is limp, hanging down slightly after being styled upwards all day, and he loves it; he notices the cobalt-ringed bruise painted across his left cheekbone, the consequence of a volleyball to the face, and he loves it; he notices the bitten fingernails, the day-old stubble, the slight bump of iwaizumi's nose, and he loves it. it's a tragedy, it truly is, and he just wants iwaizumi so badly, he just thinks he's so beautiful, and  _(why do i love you so much? why does it have to be like this? why?)_

and he thinks,  _can i not indulge myself, just this once? can i not tell myself that you're mine, and feel euphoria at last as we begin the new year?  
__can i not pretend?  
_ and he says uncertainly, "iwa-chan?" as little lanterns explode and detonate in the sky, like tiny pockets of sunbeams, glowing, radiant, friends of the stars, distant asterisms in faraway galaxies; and the chanting has become melodious now, a lovely chorus screaming " _ten! nine! eight! seven!_ ", and oikawa thinks iwaizumi is prettier than any constellation he's ever seen. then, as the countdown ticks on, as iwaizumi's face lights up more and more and more and oikawa realises that his best friend is the most radiant firework of all- it slips out of his mouth, it slips out of oikawa's mouth, what he's wanted to say for so long.  
_(he's been controlling his feelings for_  too  _long.)_  
"iwa-chan," he says, heart swelling in his chest.  
"iwa-chan, are you mine?"

" _three, two, one_!" the crowd cheer, and suddenly there's a roar as japan's skies erupt with light, incandescent balls of flame licking and cartwheeling across the darkness and fracturing, like a supernova, like a dying star, shattering into a spectrum of blazing colours and raining down onto the landscape, all greens and purples and pinks and blues, and, and...  
"what'd you say?" iwaizumi yells as he stands up, face turned upwards in awe, expression euphoric with pleasure. "i can't hear you! it's so loud! happy new year, oikawa!"  
"i said, are you mine?" oikawa says, louder this time; and he's lightning, he's thunder, the blood surging through his arteries with an electrifying confidence he's never felt before. his eyes are glued not to the pretty fireworks display in the sky, but instead to the boy in front of him, adoring, loving, caramel-bright, and he repeats breathlessly- "are you mine? iwa-chan? are you mine?"

and as the fireworks begin to dwindle, there's a gasp, a momentary lull between the two as they both realise what's really being asked of the latter. it's fantastically awkward, and it's brilliantly embarrassing; and oikawa flinches as he hears his voice echoing in his mind-  _are you mine, iwa-chan, are you mine?-_  and he can  _feel_  the crimson scorching his cheeks like wildfire,  _taste_  the metallic blood and sea salt burning into his throat like acid, and  _what the fuck have i done now, why the fuck did i do that?_ , and...

and then oikawa forgets how to breathe as iwaizumi roughly yanks him closer by the collar after what seems to be an eternity of not-staring, and they're eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth; and they're close,  _too_  close. he can feel iwaizumi's warm breath ghost across his lips, slowly, slowly, and it's hot and sweet and hesitant, much like iwaizumi himself, and then...

"am i yours?" iwaizumi whispers, and oikawa notices that his eyelids are hooded, pupils blown up so they're dark and lovely against the turbulent chocolate-brown of his irises. oikawa inhales, exhales, squeezing his eyelids shut tightly and willing iwaizumi to just  _press his swollen lips to his_ , and he wants to tug at iwaizumi's hair roughly and leave crescent-shaped marks on the dents of his hips and  _kiss him kiss kiss him_  until they're both panting and breathless and wanton with need for  _more more more_ , and-

and then the phone rings, iwaizumi's phone  _fucking rings_ , and the moment is crushed as iwaizumi jumps and somehow drags himself away from oikawa's punctuating gaze and turns away. he's weary as he fumbles to answers his phone, frowning, one hand on his hip where oikawa's should have been- and it's a tragedy, it truly is. his voice is low and raspy and wonderful again as he speaks in tongues to the person calling, and oikawa's left standing there with his head in the clouds and his heart on his sleeve until he grasps that iwaizumi's talking on the phone.

"hello?" he hears iwaizumi try at first, sounding ever so slightly out of breath and- could it be, could it be...  _awestruck_?   
he listens for a while to the person on the other line, their voice apparently shrill and hysteric, before replying with a sigh. and oikawa's heart stops when he speaks again.   
_(but not in a good way; never in a good way.)  
_ "i'm so sorry, babe!" he's saying. his voice is dripping with bittersweet honey and disintegrating hope, and oikawa feels like a ghost.   
_(babe. babe.)_  
"i'll be there in five minutes, is that okay? yeah, yeah, ah- oh yeah, babe, happy new year!"

all of a sudden, oikawa can't breathe again, but this time, it's not because of iwaizumi's proximity. he honest-to-god feels the life draining  _fast_  out of his bones, feels his spirit and all his emotions evaporating from his soul- and he can't breathe, he can't think, he can't feel, and it's unbearable, it's unbearable, it's  _excruciating_. there's a dull thrumming in his head, the hazy, love-struck feeling replaced with an agonising throb, and god- is this it? is he going to pass out? there's nausea, fatigue bleeding into his mind, blurring the coalesced lines between fantasy and reality, and ( _why? why can't you love me back?_ )

"sorry, oikawa, i'll have to call it quits on our movie night. mai-chan wants me to go over to her apartment," iwaizumi is saying, gently, as if to soften the fatal blow to oikawa's heart and pride. it doesn't work, however, and oikawa can't control himself, can't stop his nerves from closing up and his muscles from paralysing and his brain from going into overdrive- and all he can hear reverberating through his mind, through the crackling static and lacquer discolouration, is  _hey, look, tooru. you're not good enough for him after all. iwa-chan doesn't want you, and he never did- get over yourself! fuck it!_

and, "it's okay," is what he manages to gasp out, in between choked, jarring breaths and an erratic pulse at his neck, and he offers iwaizumi a watery smile  _(but not with his eyes,_  never  _with his eyes.)_    
"it's okay, iwa-chan," he echoes, almost unable to speak, willing his hot tears to burn back into his eyeballs, liquid hydrogen pouring into star-shaped moulds beneath his eyelashes.  
"go have fun with mai-chan, yeah? have a really good time, and give her a kiss on the cheek from me!"

he sounds shaky, like he's trying to convince himself, and all he can hear is that constant pounding, that tiny monster nagging incessantly at the back of his head.  _(why do i love you so much? why does it have to be like this? why?)_  it hurts, it  _hurts so fucking much_ , and he can't take it, but he has to. oikawa has to. 

he looks at iwaizumi. iwaizumi looks back.   
and, "yeah," is what iwaizumi replies simply, his voice cracking, "yeah, oikawa, i'll do that. bye, then."  
"goodnight, iwa-chan."  
iwaizumi turns his back on oikawa, walking away; and he's dissolving into ice-sharp oblivion, deliquescing like the setting sun as he goes.  it's beautiful. it's tragic.  
_oh.  
__so you're not mine, after all.  
__i remember, now._

**ii.**

****_three months earlier_

it's october when iwaizumi first takes mai out on a date, october when he first begins to drift apart from his best friend in favour of a brand-new, squeaky clean-girlfriend.

the afternoon sun is high in seijou, and oikawa is having perhaps the worst day of his life; everything's gone wrong today, absolutely everything, and it feels like there is lead slowly pumping through his bloodstream and bleeding into his consciousness. it had all started in the morning when he'd seen iwaizumi with a  _girl_ , a striking girl with high cheekbones and red lips, white skin and eyes lined with black stardust; and she'd been beautiful,  she'd been holding  _his hand_ , and oikawa had felt something agnate to envy resonating through his body achingly. he'd looked down at himself with scalding hatred, suddenly  _loathing everything_ \- his too-long legs, his blown-out hair, his synthetic smile-  and, most of all, he'd despised his inability to be a fucking  _girl_ , a girl like iwaizumi seemed to desire so much. oikawa had never, ever wanted to be a girl until iwaizumi had come along; and for him, he'd have been anything, done anything. if that included assuming a gender he wasn't comfortable with, then so be it. he was so, so fluent in the painfully-stitched together language of sacrifice and loss, and he would tear himself apart if only it meant that iwaizumi could finally love him back.

more significantly, seeing his best friend on the cusp of infatuation, the brink of  _love_  with another person had made him feel so dizzy, so faint, and he'd burst into tears right in front of his best friend. it'd been a fiercely sunny morning break, the two of them taking shelter underneath their favourite sakura tree, and iwaizumi had been talking about mai with a glint in his eyes and a beam painted across his face-  _you wouldn't believe it, oikawa, she actually likes me, she isn't just using me to get to you, she's actually really beautiful_ \- and oikawa had smiled, nodded along, all the while feeling his heart getting ripped out of his chest and smashed into teeming fibres of anguish and heartbreak.

( _but he doesn't need to know that, he doesn't need to know that.)_

then, iwaizumi had laughed breezily, bathing in the glow of his own delirium and his own crooked ecstasy, and he'd said  _hey, oikawa, d'you think she'd like this tree? d'you think it'd be romantic if i brought her under this tree?_ , and oikawa had discerned a dam breaking inside of him, the water flooding his body and choking his every organ, acid corroding away at his pain-twisted lungs and knotted-purple veins. the deluge had cleared in his eyes as he'd begun to sob convulsively, sob pathetically, sob not because he was upset or angry but because he'd been strong for too long; and iwaizumi had simply stared as he'd broken down, shattering into a thousand glass-bright pieces and the remains of a boy who had once been invincible.

"oikawa?" he'd asked after a second, just as oikawa had realised what he'd done and had frantically begun to wipe at his leaking eyes, "oikawa? what- are you  _okay_? did i do something?  _oi_ , dumbass, can you hear me?"  
"sorry, iwa-chan," he'd said scathingly, looking up with an expression doused in kerosene and petrol-stained tears. his face had been impassive, emotionless, indifferent to all.  
"it's nothing. i was briefly overwhelmed by the beauty of the sun and the lovely universe around us, that's all... you know what i mean?"  
iwaizumi had scowled, his expression coldening. "yeah, right, tell me the truth-" he'd started threateningly, but then a girl had come up from behind him; a striking girl with high cheekbones and red lips, white skin and eyes lined with black stardust, and he'd jolted to a stop all of a sudden, turned to stare at her.

"ah, hey, oikawa-san, iwaizumi-kun," mai had said in a quiet little voice, soothing and sonorous and melodic- the polar opposite of oikawa's very being, really, and then- "god, i'm  _so_  sorry to interrupt, but can i speak to you for a second, iwaizumi-kun?"  
"oh, okay, that's- yeah, sure. let's go, mai-chan." iwaizumi had replied, tone sugary-soft and dripping with something oikawa couldn't quite place- and then he'd turned tail, looked at his best friend, gaze quiet and calculating. "sorry, oikawa." had been all he'd managed to get out before oikawa had spun around, begun walking away, carefully making sure there was a spring in his step and a definite cheeriness threaded into his acrid skin and hunched posture and destitute stance.   
"that's absolutely fine by me, iwa-chan," he'd whistled, fingernails digging into his clenched fists so hard that they started to trickle bitter-tinged blood, "yoo-hoo, then!"  
"bye, oikawa-san!" he'd heard mai say with a genuine goodness in her voice that oikawa despised-  _why can't you be horrible, so it's easier for me to hate you with everything i have, mai-chan? why?_  and then he'd found his way into an empty bathroom, locked himself in a cubicle, cried and cried and cried until his eyelids were swollen and his hands were stained scarlet with sadness.  
  
it was only after he'd come out into the deserted school corridor, hesitantly shutting the door behind him, that he'd realised that it'd been a female bathroom he'd poured his agony out in.

*

now that it's later on in the afternoon, oikawa realises just what he's set himself up for.  
he's been avoiding iwaizumi all day on account of the sickly-sweet feeling swelling up in him whenever he sees the boy- a mix of tear-stained trepidation, inexplicable anger, and unrelenting, unrequited love- and he's decided that he should prioritise his own mental stability over the brief bouts of bliss iwaizumi gives him, take care of his own mind and soul and heart. 

it's difficult, however, to do so without letting iwaizumi know of what's going on, and that's the thing- iwaizumi is so completely oblivious to oikawa's pain, oikawa's grief, oikawa's heartache, and it's not exactly something he can talk about with ease. what's he even supposed to say?  _gah, sorry, iwa-chan, i'm just really fucking jealous that you've found yourself a girlfriend and, oh, have i ever mentioned that i'm gay? no? ah, it must've slipped my mind to tell you, like how i'm also hopelessly in love with you! wait, i didn't tell you that either? god, i can be_  so  _forgetful sometimes, iwa-chan! forgive me!_

(somehow, that doesn't seem right, oikawa figures. he isn't at all talented at reading people, but he does know that a confession drenched in jealousy and hard feelings and sarcasm isn't going to work. not with someone like iwaizumi, anyway.) 

volleyball practice is daunting, and oikawa can't focus on anything the whole way through. all he's able to comprehend is his tightly-clenched teeth, his tightly-clenched fists, his tightly-clenched heart; and he tries his best not to look in iwaizumi's direction, eyes stinging, jaw tense,  everything feeling red and weighted and heavy as he tries so, so hard to ignore his best friend. iwaizumi's chronic glare throughout practice, however, still manages to pierce into the small of his back like ultraviolet radiation, like poisoned solar wind; and his fingers shake as he fumbles with the ball, his body stiffens as he fails to properly jump-serve, his lips quiver as he tries and fails to grin and encourage and cheer on his team mates. iwaizumi's not fooled by his attempts at normality, however.

"what are you trying to do, oikawa?" he whispers during their five-minute break, leaning over to where oikawa is slumped on the bench, head held tight in his hands pitifully. in response, oikawa simply stands up, yells "c'mon, guys, back to work!" and strolls back onto the court with empty eyes and a smile resembling that of ripped kite strings, fractured bones, vodka searing into a tongue that shouldn't be as used to the taste of blood as his is. 

at the end of practice oikawa's quick to pick up his water bottle and bag, his head pounding and hands throbbing with the ghosts of a thousand balls he'd missed shamefully. he makes his way to the changing rooms first, the doors clanging shut behind him with a ringing in his ears; and then he finds himself in a shower cubicle just as quickly, finally letting loose, allowing gravity to drag him down onto the cold, hard ground and feeling the hot tears spilling down his face like destructive distillation, like poison searing into his flesh and body and blood with vigour. he weeps like he's never wept before, cosmic radio waves melting into his collapsed throat and collapsed lungs and it  _hurts_ , everything fucking  _hurts_ , and oikawa has never felt so goddamn useless before, so fucking unable to laugh and so fucking unable to play volleyball and so fucking unable to be  _loved_. 

when the team begin to swarm into the room, oikawa doesn't stop, opting instead to reach out with one helpless hand. he turns the shower on, and his sobs continue to reverberate through everything; but now, now it simply mixes with the gushing of the water, white noise to accompany the team's volleyball talk and laughter. besides, even if someone tried to hear him crying, why would they?  _how_  could they?

_(you can't hear anything from the inside of a black hole,_  oikawa thinks.  _and that's where i'm always going to be.)_

after a while, when everyone's left and all he can hear is the steady  _drip-drip-drip_  of the shower and his own lurching breaths, it dawns on oikawa what he's done. he looks down at his body and it's smothered in crimson, veins and arteries twisting like infrared radiation against his flush skin; and there's steam twining around his limbs, patches of rusted-scarlet woven into his flesh and bones and bleeding ribcage. everything burns, and he recognises that he's been charring himself away in the embrace of the hot, hot water; destroying himself, all the while crying and dwelling on his destructive thoughts. he's hopeless.

he feels like the kind of black he can only see when he digs the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, and there are electric currents pulsing into his fingertips and scorching through his blood vessels and buzzing into his consciousness, all bittersweet agony and acrid sadness.  
_when did i become so hurt_ , he thinks,  _that the pain inside of me managed to overshadow the boiling water against my skin, these burns?  
_ and he thinks,  _it happened today, when iwaizumi fell for someone else.  
_ and he thinks,  _falling things can't stop, not now, not ever, not when they're stuck somewhere with no end and no space and no time. and that includes me._

fifteen minutes later he's still wracked with tremulous breaths and blurry vision when he opens the cubicle door, but his hands are careful and he's calmer as he dresses himself and covers up the inflammation stretching across his chest and stomach. he wishes that they'd just disappear, these scars and burns unfurling like maps criss-crossing on top of his flesh now; and as he imagines, imagines his skin being white and his lips being red and his eyes being lined with black stardust, footsteps startle him to life from the doorway. he ignores whoever it is for a while, lost in his own more important, painfully bitter thoughts, before the person clears their throat irritatedly; and oikawa jumps, his eyes widen, his jaw goes slack. 

_i know that voice._

he turns to find iwaizumi standing there, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up suddenly, pricking him like tiny golden needles embedded in his spine. the burns begin to tingle again, and he closes his bloodshot eyes and lets out a shaky exhale; and then they’re both staring blankly, studying each other, eyebrows furrowed and expressions guarded with quiet frustration and fiery chagrin. 

oikawa doesn't know what the right thing to say is, he never has, so he just inches closer to iwaizumi and lets out a little laugh and tries to rake a hand through his hair, in-character, oikawa-style. for the umpteenth time today, however, iwaizumi isn't fooled, and he just steps closer still to oikawa, taking one of his hands gingerly.

instead of immediately saying something, though, he sighs deeply, and then he looks up at oikawa, his gaze fierce and almost afraid.  
"oikawa, what are you doing to yourself?" he says quietly after a while,  tracing circles on his red knuckles like whispers, and oikawa just laughs and laughs and laughs, unable to do anything else. iwaizumi looks scared, now.  
"have you gone crazy, oikawa? what's wrong with you? honestly, why are you acting like this?" he says, tone laced with something like guilt and something like frustration. and oikawa  _hates_  it, he hates it.  
"oh, i don't know what's wrong with me, iwa-chan. why don't you tell me?" he spits icily in response, and abruptly iwaizumi's grasp on him begins to feel absinthian, piercing. the pores on his fingertips seem to cut into oikawa's skin, razor-sharp like snowflakes, and he withdraws from it, turning his body around to face the cracked paint of the changing room wall. 

iwaizumi tries again, flustered this time. "oikawa..." he begins, almost tenderly, bringing his hand up to trace at oikawa's crimson-sore collarbone; and that's when he snaps, when oikawa finally snaps and water begins to cloud his vision again and red seems to seep into his brain, blocking every nerve of rationality, every neuron of logic.  
" _fuck_  you, hajime!" he screams, flinching away in fury and aimlessly throwing a punch,  _hard_ , at the boy's broad chest, and everything's  _black_ , everything's fucking black and he can't see and there's an incessant pounding in his body and crushing his bones, shattering his lungs, and, and everything  _hurts_ , and he can't breathe, he can't  _breathe_...  
"seriously, fuck you and your stupid  _fucking_  girlfriend! and, fuck,  _don't_  you dare fucking touch me again, you  _liar_! stop doing this to me!" he screeches again, wild and furious, and then there's an excruciating  _pain_  in his stomach and across his arms and round his legs, and he realises that iwaizumi's got him pinned against the wall, hitting and hitting and  _hitting_  until he's bent double on the ground sobbing with overwhelming grief, and there's a fire engulfing his body and white-hot pain shooting through his bloodstream, and....

and then, and then, and only then does it seem to dawn on iwaizumi just what's he's done, and his eyes dilate as he looks at his bleeding knuckles in horror. he gasps, clutching at his own hands before dropping down to his knees beside his best friend and rubbing at his back, some sort of half-hearted attempt at comfort. he's horrified.

"oh my god, oikawa, i'm sorry, i'm so, so sorry..." is all he can hiss out between laboured breaths, and he struggles and waits until oikawa finishes his crying again, stiffens again, buries his head in his knees like a child again. then, then and only then does he speak.  
"you're a dumbass, but i don't ever want to hurt you, oikawa," he says, hesitantly, uncertainly, unsure of whether he's being listened to or not; but he continues anyway, eyelids shut in terror and guilt.  
"you can't just... you can't just call me those things, not when i'm trying so, so hard here. but i know i shouldn't have done that, i shouldn't have hurt you, and i'm- believe me, stupid, i'm- i'm so sorry. oikawa. i'm sorry..."  
"it's fine," oikawa manages to choke out, swiftly cutting iwaizumi off in the middle of his strained apology; and his voice is hoarse, cracked, broken as he cradles himself in his own arms.  
"leave me alone, now, iwa- iwaizumi-san. please."  
and iwaizumi gets up, and iwaizumi leaves.   
_(don't leave me alone! please!)  
_ and oikawa is still, and oikawa has a lump in his throat, and oikawa is doomed.  
_(iwa-chan, please! just this once, just this once, please come back! please!)_

and it's tragic, how he's left curled up against the wall, struggling to inhale, his fragile bones spun with sea glass bruises and the kisses of iwaizumi's fists. his hair is unruly, swept about all over the place, and the bags under his eyes glisten with red-hot tears and the bitter inflammation of ceaseless crying. and he still wonders why, he still wonders why he's not good enough for iwaizumi; and he still wishes for, he still wishes for his best friend to somehow, somehow love him.

_(and it's a tragedy. it truly is.)_

**iii.**

fast-forward two months and they've made up countless times, discussed their problems in-depth, exchanged heartfelt apologies and laughs devoid of any underlying venom. that's just what they do, best friends, partners in everything and bound for life; no matter what happens, they can always talk to each other, make up, become friends again. it's almost like second nature, a sixth sense for them, oikawa and iwaizumi: the unbreakable pair.

_but that's the thing_ , oikawa thinks as he trudges back to his own home, sour after being hastily abandoned by iwaizumi on new years' day. his boots crunch in the diamond-bright snow, foreboding, and he looks up at the sky with his jaw locked tight.  
_i don't want to be just his friend. i can't look at him anymore without wanting to grab him and kiss him, but i can't sacrifice our friendship. i'm that fucking selfish. i want him, but not enough to risk losing him completely.  
__i'm fucked._

and as he walks, the silence watches him, observing his sorrow quietly and filling his ears with its lack of sound. his skin seems translucent, veins crawling to the surface of a deep-freckled complexion like tidal waves, and his posture is quieted like he’s afraid of everything unravelling around him.

something in his stomach coils tightly as he thinks of what iwaizumi could be doing right now, late at night in his girlfriend's house, and all of a sudden everything feels  _wrong_ , everything feels so wrong. it should be  _oikawa's_  house that iwaizumi goes to on a nightly basis, it should be _oikawa's_ body that he clings on to with unlimited care and affection, it should be  _oikawa's_  name that he tastes on his lips when he's coming apart at the seams. he belongs to oikawa, and oikawa belongs to him; and that's the way it's always been, so why should it be any different now?

_oh, right, iwa-chan, because you have mai-chan already_ , oikawa thinks resentfully, frustration bubbling up in him like destructive distillation coursing through his blood, like iron-red rust lining his lungs. he screams then, feeling it rip through his whole body right down to his spine; and people whoop in response from distant houses in the neighbourhood, perhaps mistaking it for a joyful new years' outburst. he sees the silhouettes of people dancing wildly behind tangled lace curtains, watches them all embracing and drinking and slinging their arms around one another's neck and really  _living_ , and oikawa can't stop; he can't stop the sobs from tearing through his throat, can't stop the tears from stabbing molten-hot between the gaps of his eyes, can't stop the familiar and stupid fucking  _jealousy_  taking over him;

and he screams.

_when will this get better? when will i ever stop loving iwaizumi, stop getting jealous about everything i see?_

and he screams again, but it's of no use.

_(i'm tired! i'm tired!)  
_ _(you can't hear anything from the inside of a black hole.)  
_ _(fuck! fuck! fuck all of this!)  
_ _(i'm tired. i'm so fucking tired.)_

**iv.**

it lasts for an aevertinity, an infinite number of nothings, oikawa's sadness. and he's sick of it, he's so goddamn sick of it by the end of everything.

the following month of january embraces winter with cold, boneless arms, and oikawa feels feather-light and hollow and completely and utterly empty, just as he'd predicted.   
like gossamer wings drifting into the sky, or flower petals tugged loose by empyreal breezes, he spends most of his time wandering; wandering, and wondering, and thinking, of course. mostly about iwaizumi.

he trades the sight of gleaming-bare blossom trees for the mental image of iwaizumi's defined cheekbones and jaw, exchanges the outline of lucent, pale sun-rays and lustrous clouds for iwaizumi's eyes and ever-bright smile. also, despite knowing the consequences of unrequited love- the way he's slowly chipping away at his own health by wanting someone who's unreachable, the way his own spirit is deteriorating from lack of attention- oikawa still pines, he still pines. he pines and he tries and he fails and he pines, and he does it again and again and again till it becomes a rhythm, a relentless cycle of eternal what-ifs and never-ending uncertainties; and his days and nights blur into thousands of  _yes, today was good, iwaizumi acknowledged my existence_ 's and _fuck, today was horrible, i saw him holding mai-chan's hand_ 's, and it's horrible, it's so fucking horrible.

oikawa doesn't know when his love turned to torment, when his rapture turned to misery, and now when he walks through school hallways, he's completely alone. isolated. left to his own tracks.  
_sorry, oikawa!  
__i have to help mai-chan study!  
__mai-chan wants to eat lunch with me, she made me a bento so i can't refuse!  
__i can't hang out since i'm going to watch mai-chan in her theatre show, oikawa, sorry!  
__sorry, sorry, sorry!  
__mai-chan, mai-chan, mai-chan!_

everything becomes grey: the lockers he passes by, the corridors he slumps through, the faces of classmates who don't know what's wrong with him, even volleyball. he can't see anything properly, anymore, because iwaizumi was his spectrum of colours, his only source of light, and now he's gone; and worst of all, his best friend hasn't even noticed the change within him. his best friend doesn't even  _talk_  about that one fateful moment they'd had on the brink of new years' day. he doesn't even mention that almost-kiss they'd shared before being so rudely interrupted, that exchange of breaths between two lungs they'd had-he never alludes to it, not even once, and yet it's all that oikawa can focus on.

_(did it mean nothing at all to you, iwa-chan?)  
_ _(you were my sun, iwa-chan.)  
_ _(why did you leave, iwa-chan?)  
_ _(i'm sick of it, iwa-chan.)_

**v.**

it's the last friday of january by the time there's finally a shift in the paradigm, a change in oikawa's meandering reality which passes by in twines of tears and myriads of sleepless nights.  
many, many days have passed since the october that iwaizumi and mai first got together, now, and oikawa's overwhelming jealousy is steadily fading away. it's becoming more of a perpetual shadow lingering on his bones, now, constant and everlasting; something massive and weighted and hazy behind his eyelids, the nerve-ends creeping around his organs like torn-up pieces of string. he still sees everything in subdued hues, nothing as vivid as it was before, but at least,  _at least_  it's not grey anymore.  
  
he doesn't think that he's getting better, however; of course he isn't, not at all. oikawa knows that heartbreak comes in every colour of the rainbow, iridescent, and he's simply moved on from the fierce, penetrating red to a calmer, more euphonious blue on the spectrum. every disaster dies down eventually- it's a law of the world, most definitely, and perhaps even a law of the universe- so likewise, a catastrophe within oneself will wash away someday, too. 

but just because something's over, that doesn't mean it didn't happen, right? after all, if someone dies, they stay dead, no matter what; not even if their loved ones manage to move on, not even if everyone forgets as times whizzes by.  
in the same way, oikawa's frustration fading doesn't mean that he hasn't experienced love, hate, and all the rest of it- no, not at all, never. rather, those emotions are just blending into the background slowly, so constant in his being that it's become a part of him, now, really. a phantom limb, a surplus section of his brain swirling about with unwanted sorrow. 

oikawa's captured in this very spectra of a fantastically tragic supernova, the dying star of a life-long friendship, and nothing can convince him otherwise.  
_(and once you're trapped, you can't get out.)  
_ he knows, heavy in his heart, that he artlessly has to get used to it- it's just how the world works, unfortunately enough. it's just how the world works, and he'll have to get used to it,  get used to the way that iwaizumi no longer has time for him and is no longer  _iwaizumi, oikawa's best friend for life!_  but rather  _iwaizumi, the lucky boy dating mai-chan, that one incredible volleyball player with stardust smudged across his mouth and bittersweet lipstick staining his cheeks_!

_(it's just how the world works.)_

_(i'll get over it. i'll get over it. i'll get over it!)  
_ _(i'll get over it.)  
_ _(can i ever get over it?)_

*

oikawa haltingly becomes familiar with unapologetic apathy, learns to acquiesce himself with the old friend of detachment and disregard. he slowly grows accustomed to exhaustively ignoring his feelings, blooms into the passive and callous person he was always going to be, not caring so long as it helps him to transgress his love for iwaizumi.   
and it's during one of those times, a particularly good saturday night when he's is really  _forgetting_  and really  _moving on_  and really  _getting over it_ , that iwaizumi calls him up with his voice choked, his tone tremulous, and-  _shit, he's crying, what the fuck happened? what the fuck happened?_

oikawa had been re-decorating his room at the time of the call; he'd been halfway up a ladder, his shirt half-hanging off his body, his ceiling half-dotted with luminous stars, his face half-covered with night-sky paint. at the shrill ring of his phone, however, he'd also half-died by instantaneously falling from the ladder and toppling over several buckets of paint, causing the darkness to splatter over his cheeks and hair even more. he didn't care, though; if someone was calling him at 1AM, it was probably important, he'd thought.

and so, "hello?" he'd said, out of breath, furiously rubbing at the acrylic then coating his face.  
when he'd heard a tiny sob at the other end, he'd assumed it was just another one of his fangirls who'd found his number and had thought night-time confessions and unwarranted blubbering was cute.  
_(god, please!)  
_ ergo, "hey, it's tooru speaking, _oikawa_ tooru!" he'd drawled, his tone sugary-sweet and cloying-bitter like honey- and that's when he'd heard iwaizumi's distinct groan, and his heart had stopped beating, and his arteries had been flooded with panic, and...  
"iwa-chan?!" he'd yelled, and, and...  
he was crying, he was  _crying_ , holy shit, holy  _shit_ , and...  
"oikawa,  _shit_ , oikawa. i fucking did it, man, i fucking broke up with her. come over. please."

**vi.**

one thirty in the morning paints itself onto oikawa's eyelashes like neutron stars, white-hot, and as he speeds through the streets towards iwaizumi's house, he's shaking. his fingers twine together with something too akin to hope to be real, and his mind is in complete and utter overdrive, repeating the same sentence over and over and over again:  
_he broke up with her.  
__he broke up with her.  
__he broke up with her._

oikawa knows that it's evil, somehow, to feel this elated about his best friend finally parting with mai, no matter how upset iwaizumi is or under what circumstances they had to split. yet, as he thunders towards iwaizumi's block, he cannot stop the refulgent grin stretching from one side of his face to the other, sunny-cold; and, at last, he can really  _feel_  the damp grass beneath his bare feet,  _see_  the stars winking genuinely above him,  _sense_  the smell after rain dancing softly through the night-time zephyr. he's alive, and he  _will_  survive, show the world that he can make it.

and barely minutes have passed before he reaches the all-too-familiar door of the iwaizumi household, scratchy gold and rusted red and ornate, bronze-bright letters spelling out the number  _ninety-six_  intrinsically; and he hasn't even knocked before iwaizumi swings the door open, grabs oikawa by the hand, drags him into his home without a word. it's perfectly fucking normal, after all.  
inside, there's an unearthly silence, a quiescence that unties itself and wraps around every living, breathing thing in the house. oikawa can tell, as he's guided through the labyrinth of small rooms and art-lined corridors, that iwaizumi's parents aren't home tonight; and he looks down at his feet as his best friend shows him the way through the darkness as always, even though he's in the darkness himself,  _left, right, left, right_.

when they find themselves in iwaizumi's bedroom, iwaizumi doesn't even turn the light on before he collapses on his bed, abruptly letting go of oikawa's hand and burying his face amongst his crumpled sheets. the smell of kerosene-drenched flowers and laundry detergent and sadness is thick in the air, and oikawa doesn't even speak, goes and sits next to his best friend with unspoken words of comfort edging his lips and heavy uncertainty balanced precariously on the tip of his tongue. iwaizumi seems to be quivering and letting out little breaths every now and then, for the first time in his life, and oikawa's never seen him before like this,  _never_ , and he doesn't know what to do.

"iwa-chan," he says, eventually. "iwa-chan, i don't know what to do."  
"that's okay," iwaizumi gets out, and his voice is muffled from his duvet, already bittersweet with some sort of limitless grief and mournful self-pity. "i just need you here. i need a person here, yeah? it's okay, it's all gonna be okay. i think."

oikawa presses up against him and wraps his arms around his best friend, burying his face against the crook of his neck, his breath scorching-hot against iwaizumi's skin. he feels the other's heartbeat, jumping and hard underneath his hand, and he traces circles with his fingertips soothingly, drawing out the shapes of volleyballs and stars and planets. he feels so alive, sitting there embracing iwaizumi; and then they entwine their fingers and hold hands hard enough to hurt, but it's a wonderful pain, a calming pain, the kind of pain that reminds them how human they are, how desperately their hearts want, how good it feels to finally have.

"i need to say something though, oikawa. why i broke up with mai-chan, why i couldn't stay with her for any longer." iwaizumi murmurs with a hint of anxiety in his tone, and oikawa simply nuzzles harder against his neck. he hasn't seen iwaizumi for so long, let alone  _touched_  him like this for so long; and he's missed it, he's missed it so much, the grandiose fireflies fluttering in his stomach whenever he feels iwaizumi's skin against his.  
"what is it, iwa-chan?" he says, grinning lightly. he can't get enough of his best friend's touch.  
there's a heartbeat. a pause. and then;  
"i'm gay."  
  
oikawa jerks to attention and stiffens, and suddenly everything in his brain is nerveless, numb, torpid with disbelief and  _something too akin to hope to be real_ , and he's shoved iwaizumi to the side before he can comprehend what the hell is happening and-  _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck he's gay i have an actual chance with him oh my god oh my god what the fuck...  
  
_ "are you homophobic?" iwaizumi says in a quiet voice, and oikawa looks up, terrified. iwaizumi looks so vulnerable and lost as he sits there, countenance small and ethereal, and he wants to scream " _no_!" from the top of his lungs but he's frozen still, rooted to the bed, unable to even  _move_  as his best friend's face slowly drops into a beautiful devastation he's never, never seen before, not ever.  
"i understand if you feel... if you feel uncomfortable around me now, but there's nothing actually  _wrong_  with me, yeah, oikawa?" iwaizumi rushes out, panicky, words tripping over each other for their lightning-like speed- and at last, at last oikawa comes to his senses, snaps back to life, slings his arm around iwaizumi's shoulders and tilts his dejected face back up.  
"i know all that, iwa-chan," he says breathily, face shining, and iwaizumi looks up at him, a newfound optimism written across his visage.   
"i'm not disgusted by you, okay? because... because i'm the same, y'know? i mean... _god_ , fuck all this, i'm gay too."

he breathes out, and it feels like a massive weight's been lifted off of his shoulders. everything is hushed for a moment, static and serene and tranquil like the sea at dawn, silken waves melding against the flush-pink empyrean; and there's an auroral breeze knocking softly against the window, tender and tame and almost peaceful, before iwaizumi exhales sharply. he's closed his eyelids, and he looks harrowed, apprehensive.  _shit_.  
"holy crap," he says simply, and then oikawa's face is searing red, sanguine with the shame of it.  _just because he's gay, that doesn't mean he's in love with me, is it? i shouldn't have told him about myself, now it's all going to be so obvious and he's going to leave me, oh my god_ -  
"oikawa, man," he echoes, but this time he sounds less agitated- and then, all of a sudden he's got oikawa taut in his arms, face stifled in his bronze-blazing hair, body flush against his, and...  
"holy crap, oikawa, i'm so relieved right now, you  _wouldn't_  believe. i'm so, so glad, holy crap-  _shit_ -"

and in that moment, iwaizumi is fire coursing through oikawa's soul like a broken circuit and everything is spinning,  _fuck_ , everything is blurry and flushed and all oikawa can feel is heat and iwaizumi and something that smells like igneous wishes and ignited dreams. it’s dark and iwaizumi's irises are like lunar eclipses, copper-bright, but oikawa's so afraid of looking into them because he’ll crack, he’ll crack and crack and break into seventeen pieces because eyes  _shouldn’t be that shade of brown_ , they shouldn't, they absolutely shouldn't and...  
  
and then, "what else is wrong?" oikawa utters knowingly, feather-soft, and when he sees the tragically wistful look in iwaizumi's gaze ( _eternally mocking, infinitely beautiful_ ), his heart almost splits in two. it doesn't, though; instead, it stops beating completely, becomes cold and paralysed and warm and  _pulsating_  as iwaizumi speaks again, his words interlaced with wonderful honesty and lovely goddamn  _truth, truth, truth_.

"it's you, oikawa. i'm in love with you." he says.

and he looks away. 

and oikawa is suspended in time for a moment.

and oikawa is gone.

it looks like there's plasma on the corner of iwaizumi's mouth, and oikawa wants to kiss the stardust-splattered novocaine away all of a sudden; and his heart is surging so fast- so, so,  _so_  fast- and it feels like it's going to rip right out of his chest, fly out high into the atmosphere, dive into the cosmos with its rhythm as fuel and its speed as effluvium. his whole fucking being is suddenly zoetic, suddenly  _alive_ , and the amber-gold of iwaizumi's eyes is smouldering into the back of his skull and butterflies are bumping into his chest and he doesn't know why he gets this way around iwaizumi, he just  _does_. he glances up with a serrated inhale and gazes at his best friend and he can't believe it, he can't  _believe_  it, he can't...

_he's in love with me?_

"you're in love with me?" he repeats, dumbfounded, and it's almost like a scene out of a movie, except it's  _not_ , and then iwaizumi is nodding, vision burning with insatiable flames. unlike oikawa, he's so confident in what he's saying, gazing fiercely at his best friend straight in the eye, and-  
_oh my god.  
__oh my god.  
__oh my god!  
__he's fucking in love with me!_

and oikawa doesn't even have the time to comprehend what's happening before iwaizumi's lips meet his at last, and  _fuck_ , it's electrifying, it's rekindling every spark in every fibre in every bone of his being. and his entire body floods with the dancing twists and tales of sweet, honey-warm infatuation and all the lovely, lovely  _pain_  he's felt in the last few months, swirling about in the midst of his stomach like furious butterflies and hurricanes; and iwaizumi's tan fingers splay out against his chest, trace his body, every brush an effortless calculation and every gentle squeeze a fate thrown into existence. he runs his fingers through oikawa's hair desperately, feels his heartbeat accelerate, holds him in his arms tight enough to cut off his blood circulation, and-  
"i love you," he gasps again against oikawa's mouth, and he can taste the setter's halcyon smile on his lips, returns the gesture.   
"since day one, it's been you. it's always been you." he continues quietly, and then he's drawing back, and oikawa's face lights up, his eyes cosmic-bright and gleaming like gamma-ray radiation. he's finally, finally happy, he really is, he's  _happy_ \- and iwaizumi's glad, he's so glad.  
"you should've told me that you liked me at the very beginning, stupid iwa-chan." oikawa breathes out, mustering the cutest pout he can, but he's still smirking, cheeky as ever. "it would've saved me so much trouble,  _so_  much trouble..."

his expression is serious now as he remembers the anguish he's gone through, but then iwaizumi is back to kissing him hopelessly again; like oikawa's air and he can't breathe, like oikawa is the fire that licks the crevices of his chest. he taints him with the silver bullets of his kiss, and the astral poison blooms across his lips, and-  _fuck, fuck, fuck,_  it's good, it's  _so good_...  
"iwa-chan?" oikawa pants, breaking away from iwaizumi again for a moment; and he looks flustered and worn-out,  utterly radiant, basking in the afterglow of the kiss as though sunshine has been sewn into his skin and swollen-scarlet lips and  _fuck_ , he is  _euphoric_  right now.  
"iwa-chan, does this mean we're together?" he asks, eyes sparkling. and iwaizumi doesn't even protest, try to tease him as he usually would- he simply nods, content with everything in the world.  
"i guess we are. i don't need a fake girlfriend now, anyhow." he says, sounding slightly gruff, though his face paints the perfect image of admiration and awe. and he smiles that eternally mocking, infinitely beautiful smile, and this time, oikawa knows for sure that it's genuine. heartfelt. only, and only, and  _only_  for him.

_(and it's no longer a tragedy, and oikawa is happy.)  
_ _(he truly is.)_

**Author's Note:**

> woW that was a long ride!! forgive me if it was shitty, i've been writing this in the wee hours between musical show rehearsals jesus
> 
> edit:: ALSO I AM SORRY ABOUT THE CHEESY ENDING BUT I COULDN'T PUT OIKAWA BBY THROUGH ANY MORE PAIN LIKE?? HE DID NOT DESERVE THAT AT ALL?? nonon o i'm sorry bbs i gave u what u wanted in the end pls forgive me
> 
> anyway! thank you so much for reading; comments + feedback are, as always, much appreciated!!


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